In Blood
by SilverWinterAngel
Summary: Somebody is out for revenge on Spencer Reid; and they want to see in wrought in blood. Keeping a secret from a team of profilers is difficult, especially when it is effecting your very mood and personality; putting you in danger. Reid has managed to keep one last part of his childhood secret, but now it is time for the team to dig it up . And quickly, before it is too late.
1. Prologue

"_**I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you **__**want**__** to keep in, and the kind you don't **__**dare**__** to let out."  
>― <strong>__**Ally Carter**__**, **__**Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover**_

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><p><em><strong>AN: So, my first Criminal Minds fanfic :) This is not strictly tied to any one point during the series, because I have only seen season three from all the way through and am still in the progress of season four. Sadly, only repeats of the show are aired in GB... There will be plenty of Reid-whumping, as people call it, and some parts could maybe be seen as Morgan/Reid, but that's just how you guys interpret it... idk... **_

_**Please, enjoy In Blood. **_

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><p>It was a morning like any other after a hard case. The slow quiet was palpable, and without Reid doing something around the whiteboard, or going backwards and forwards between his desk and the bookcase, it was too still. JJ sat in her office, flicking through files and trying to get it back in some form of order. By some small miracle, her inbox remained empty and there were no calls either. These moments were rare, but they sometimes came, and they weren't as welcome as one would expect.<p>

Hotch re-read the same case file, Morgan surreptitiously pushed some things around in his desk draws in an imitation of tidying, Garcia did her Garcia-things in the tech room, Prentiss helped JJ and Rossi was trying to coax a good coffee out of the machine.

"Morning," Reid thumped his bag down on his desk, and all heads turned his way in surprise. They weren't entirely sure what to expect- to see him looking better rested? Healthier? Or, perhaps, at a long stretch, to see him with a smile and a slight tan?- All in all, they did not expect him to look exhausted and worse for wear. Reid's eyes held an almost haunted look to them, and they were heavily ringed by dark bags. His hair was longer than normal, and unkempt, as opposed to neatly kept back like usual.

"Reid, we didn't expect you back for another two days," Hotchner remarked, neatly placing back his file and looking around the door.

"Couldn't stand it," He muttered, avoiding eye contact; generally avoiding everyone and everything. Morgan waited for him to pick up a book, or a file, or join Rossi at the coffee machine, but instead he just sat. A silent look passed between the BAU members in the room: the type that becomes perfected over the years of looking out for each other. Years of looking out for Reid, to be exact.

"How was Leave, kid? Enjoy it?" Morgan came behind Reid, treading carefully in both the literal and metaphorical sense. Everything was holding its breath, and even the coffee machine had stopped whirring. Reid glanced up; looked down. Sighed; moved some paper.

"It was crap," He said at length, and Morgan stepped away like a man slapped by his girlfriend. JJ and Prentiss frowned at each other, while Derek took a deep breath and rubbed his bald head.

"We've had a call!" JJ suddenly said, and the mood in the room was dispersed, but Morgan still cast a worried glance back at Reid. What was going on there? Through everything, all the ups and the downs, Reid had remained mild-mannered and quietly optimistic; never had he been so blunt or plain old rude to anyone, let alone Derek Morgan. Something was wrong, and never had Morgan been so sorely tempted to break the inter-team profiling deal.

But first, there was a serial murder case to think about.


	2. Chapter One: Beneath the Surface

**_ "Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody."_**

-Mark Twain

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><p>Reid spoke to nobody on the jet, and he sat at the back, silent as a tomb. His gaze was blank, emotionless- unfocused- and his fingers absentmindedly pulled a loose thread in the leather seats. When Hotchner asked him to join them in order to review the unsub's file, he didn't seem to hear, and if he did, and chose to ignore them all in favour of whatever thoughts he was ensnared in. JJ passed the file back to Hotch, and then went to sit next to him with her special smile on her face.<p>

"Hey Spence, we're missing you over here," She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched sharply as if her touch pained him. JJ drew back her hand, the smile sinking into a look of worry as his soft brown eyes slowly focused on her; yet he still didn't quite seem with her yet. "Spence? Spencer?"

"Oh, I must have dozed off. Why aren't we reviewing the case file already?" JJ didn't miss how Spencer moved away from her, as if repulsed or scared, or how he glanced down to make sure their limbs weren't anywhere near each other's. He abruptly stood, startling her, and moved down to where the rest of the team were gathered. Jennifer watched him go, before following moments later with a silent message on her face: "_he's in trouble_".

"So, we're dealing with a killer who is imitating Jack the Ripper down to every last detail; apart from the fact the unsub also steals the cheap jewellery off the prostitutes and then sends it to their families. Our unsub doesn't clean it, either, so it is remains bloodstained when they open it as a gory warning before they hear it on the news..." Rossi mused.

"He does it before committing to any sexual act, and there is never any semen at the scene. I believe this man either records himself doing what he does due to sexual sadism, or his reasons are more personal," Hotch added, frowning at the pictures. Emily was doing likewise, before she suddenly seemed to think of something.

"It's like he's angry, but everything he does is disciplined and exact, and he would have needed medical training to perfectly remove the womb like he has..." Rossi nodded his agreement at Prentiss' statement, before passing the dump-site photo's across the table to Reid. He felt that by including the young doctor, he could help to bring him out of his head and back into the very real world of profiling. Something was clearly eating at Spencer, but he was letting it get too much in the way of a case, and so he needed to be encouraged to be active as much as possible. That way, at least Rossi hoped, Spence couldn't let whatever it was distract him completely. Not that David condoned younger agents drowning their troubles with work, but right then he needed the brilliant young man's mind there in full force. A copycat serial killer was usually an easy job, but not when they were copying a man who had become more of a fictional character than a real murderer. Not enough was known about the Jack the Ripper case, and there would be nobody to ask anymore- not to mention it was from a whole other country altogether! Yes, they would need Reid there in mind, body and spirit if they wanted to make any progress.

Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be about to do that.

Doctor Reid was staring at one page- one _word_- on the file, and suddenly dropped it and stood up.

"Nevada? I, um, I don't think I can do this one Hotch," He mumbled, before moving quickly to the bathroom with his head down. The team watched him go with confusion in their eyes, before sharing a frown. JJ swallowed, a nasty thought crossing her mind.

"You don't think, with the way he's acting, that he could be..."

"Using? The kid has the right behaviour pinned for that," Morgan bit his lip briefly, and realized that everything _did _make sense. The lack of sleep, lashing out, the listless gaze, mood swings... It all added up, and yet it didn't. There was still a final puzzle piece; one that Prentiss unknowingly clicked into place.

"Something happened on his break; that would have been a stress trigger for him. He practically dropped off the grid for two months, just like many junkies do on the street... I-I don't want to believe it, obviously, but all the signs are lit up and screaming,"

"Right. Keep an eye on him everyone, check his luggage; try not to leave him alone for the right amount of time for him to get his fix. I'm afraid it would be difficult for me to allow another addiction to unnoticed by the higher-ups. Right now, we need to focus on this case, and then we can deal with Reid in accordance when we get home," Hotch instructed, casting a deep and thoughtful frown in the direction of the bathroom door. JJ shook her head.

She didn't believe it, not for a moment. She had chosen Reid as the godfather of her child because he was strong inside; because he was a good man. He wouldn't allow himself to get addicted again, and even though it would just be her against an expert team of profilers, she was _certain _he was clean. For Jennifer, it was obvious that Reid was dealing with an emotional trauma that was much too great for him to bear on his skinny shoulders, alone. He didn't need the team watching and judging him: he needed them to listen and ask the questions so he could finally answer! If even JJ could see that; then surely the others could! But they had heard what Hotchner has to say, and then left it at that and returned to the case. She shook her head again to clear it, and then walked up to the bathroom.

"JJ, where are you going?"

"You said don't leave him alone," She replied quietly, before knocking on the door until Spencer emerged. He was pale, and she realised at once that he had been vomiting. A withdrawal symptom. She stepped in front of him and made sure the team couldn't see.

"I'm fine," he snapped. "I'll drive home as soon as we get there," Then he slammed the door again, and JJ winced when she heard the dry retching from inside.

There was more to this than met the eye. She was positive.

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><p><strong><em>AN: Looks like I didn't upload the full chapter this morning but I just fixed that. Also, I'm watching the last episode of season four as I type this! Soon I'll have the box set, and then I can watch all of CM and actually know what I'm talking about better :) remember to reveiw: they're my motivation_**


	3. Chapter Two: Demon Outside the Door

"_**How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also If I am to be whole" **_

-C. G. Jung

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><p><em><strong>AN: I haven't seen the episodes with Maeve, or with Tobias so please correct me if I have made any mistakes. I want to reference them, because the situation calls for it. **_

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><p>It was late in the evening, and most of the police officers had gone home for the night; yet still the BAU hung around the office in Nevada. Reid was not with the group, and that was exactly why they were gathered there.<p>

"I tried to talk him out of it, but I've never seen him acting so... _delinquent," _

"Can you explain that in any greater detail?" Rossi pressed JJ.

"He was out of control; terrified even. He wouldn't listen to me or JJ and he got right in the rental car which he had already called on the jet. He'll be half way back to Virginia by now," Prentiss sighed.

"He kept glancing around too, and he left this behind..." JJ placed Spencer's mobile on the desk.

"Was acting like he was being watched?" Hotch asked, taking the phone and looking through it. He was met with 50 missed calls and 20 blocked texts from an anonyms number, with a further 123 texts from the same number, presumably before Reid found out how to block them. His expression changed as he read them, and Morgan looked over his shoulder with a feeling of sinking dread in his stomach.

"Yes, he kept looking over his shoulder; not at us. It was like he was expecting somebody to come at us any moment. He was really scared Hotch,"

They were all the same.

_**Spencey, only blood will suffice.**_

Hotchner pressed voicemail with a heavy heart.

_**-"Spencey, don't you know how much it hurt? I'll find you soon,"**_

_**-"You looked like you were recovering quite well, Spencey"**_

_**-"Oh, that's a nasty papercut you got from all those files Spencey," **_

_**-"You didn't like that curry, did you, Spencey? Shame, I could have bought you a better one," **_

_**-"You could have at least tipped the waitress. She looked a little like Maeve, come to think of it,"**_

Suddenly, it started ringing and Morgan hit the call button, but his hand felt like lead. It was so heavy; heavy with the mind-numbing trepidation.

_**-"I've discovered some veerry interesting things, Spencey, such as how you were almost buried alive by Tobias. He would have saved me a good job, but I would also have been angry at not being able to do it myself. It gives me some brilliant ideas. What would it be like- watching you struggle for air? All that earth closing in, until you couldn't see the light anymore; and then there would be that final moment when your strength just leaves you. Imagine it Spencey. I look forward to it," **_The call ended there.

"He has a stalker, and he didn't think to tell us?! The kid must have been going through hell..." A bead of sweat rolled down Morgan's forehead, but the temperature in the room had just dropped to below freezing. The call left all of them shaken, and deeply worried for their youngest team member: this man was making Reid's every living moment a misery, and bringing back some of the most painful moments from his life. JJ looked like she was about to be sick, and Prentiss was simply horrified. Morgan was angry. Rossi was stunned. Hotch's face was an unreadable mask.

"It looks like our unsub knows Reid personally. He seems to delight in using 'Spencey' as a nickname, but also like a form of personal psychological torture. It was probably a—" Rossi was cut off in mid flow my Hotch, who looked grim. Bitter with guilt, and scarily grim: a face like that only foreshadowed something bad.

"There is no unsub, and there is no case yet," He said, and no matter how well he hid it from the team, he couldn't deny the hand of guilt, which plunged a dagger into his stomach and twisted it around. "We have a case right here, and right now. _This _unsub is killing on a cycle of five days, and we have 24 hours to catch him before he kills again. His numbers are fast approaching the twenties, and we don't want them to reach that number,"

"No. No! We have to stop this before anything happens to Reid, Hotch, you heard this guy- he wants nothing more than to hurt him!" Morgan argued back, all regard for Hotch soon thrown to the winds. Without even fully realising it, Morgan had gotten to his feet as if carried up by the wave of his anger. His clenched fist struck into the table, and Hotch stood up to meet him head on.

"Think about this Morgan! If we value a case of an FBI agent over a case where prostitutes are dying, it will reflect horribly on us! Reid is still alive; he's on his way home right now, but there are nineteen girls who aren't, and one who is going to die and she doesn't even know it. Get your priorities straight Morgan!"

"Are you saying Reid isn't important to this team!? Hotch, he's damn well the best agent we've ever had, as well as being my best friend- screw that: he's a friend to _all _of us. I know we can't be personal, but _you _need to _think about it_,"

"Agent Morgan: do not talk back to your superiors! You take orders, and you follow them! Right now, I am ordering you to back the hell down and focus on developing a profile. Reid isn't...isn't... _He's not important right now_,"

Morgan looked murderous. Hotch's tone had become that special one; the one he reserved for speaking with unsub's, and just then Morgan was angry enough to snap his neck. He sucked in a deep breath. Glared. By his side, his hand was trembling; so he curled it and uncurled it in and out of a fist in an attempt to steady it. What Hotch had just said was evil, and bloody unfair too. If Derek were to make Hotch look him in the eyes, would he still be able to say that same line again? Would Aaron Hotchner honestly be able to say that Spence's life was pointless at the moment, and they should all focus on strangers? On sluts? No... Morgan knew he couldn't think like that; a small part of him kept telling him that he was getting too personal and too angry. Unfortunately, that small part sounded exactly like Hotch, and it caused his blood to boil all over again. With a clatter of his chair, Morgan stormed outside to the hallway. Rossi followed close on his heels.

"Tell him, Rossi! Tell him Reid comes first. He's a member of this team- a team he sees as a surrogate family for his own messed up one! He listens to you, dammit! He'll always listen to you..." Morgan ran both hands across the dome of his head, leaning against the wall. He felt drowned by the hopelessness of the situation.

"My hands are tied this time Derek, I'm sorry. You both made good points, but remember what Hotch said? Reid isn't even in danger yet, and these girls are. Go back to the hotel; rest. Come in tomorrow, and we'll give Reid a call before starting work. That would have given him enough time to get home, okay?" Rossi once again reminded Morgan of the peace-keeping granddad, and he couldn't help but listen to the older man. Yes, they both _had _made that excellent point. Morgan seized hold of it, and took a deep breath. He realized that he had been thinking about Tobias, and how they hadn't noticed Reid's disappearance in time to save him. It had taken three days until they got to him, and then Reid had become addicted to Dilaudid. That addiction could have ruined everything for Reid. In fact, this entire thing was like some surreal crossover of Tobias and Maeve: a stalker and a man who wanted to torture Reid all rolled into one. There was no irony to be found though, because Derek could not stop worrying; if the BAU was the surrogate family for Reid, then Spence was the little brother that Morgan had always wanted growing up. If a friend and a brother was in danger, Derek would stick his neck out and hold out his arms, catching Reid and taking the blade himself. He was used to feeling like he had the power to do that, but just then, in that moment in a small police station in Fort McDermitt, Nevada, Derek Morgan felt truly helpless. Morgan hadn't even felt so bad when Reid shut himself in a room contaminated with anthrax!

Sighing heavily, he nodded and looked at Rossi.

"Yeah. Sleep, rest, and call Reid. I can do that," He mumbled, and walked back out into the cool evening. Even in the sweltering height of summer, it was cold at night, and it was usually a welcome relief. Just then, however, it only served t add to the feeling of melancholy that was creeping its way up his spine. Rossi watched him go, and he knew exactly how Derek was feeling. Even if he wasn't a profiler, he would have understood, because he felt exactly the same.

The early hours of the morning saw Spencer Reid cowering by the front door, his hands over his ears, as the phone kept on ringing. He had thought that he would be fine if he dumped his cell; he hadn't realised that his damned tormentor had got a hold of his landline number. All night, it had gone off. First it had rung exactly every two hours, when it would ring non-stop for thirty minutes, before going silent again. Next off, it had escalated up to every hour, before simply ringing and ringing in a never-ending series of high, peeling notes. They cut into his head, and grated against his nerves, but he couldn't bring himself to move away from the door: the furthest point from his only landline in his bedroom. Piled beside him, were parcels, and the longer they sat there, the more they stank. His flat smelt of rotten meat, but once again he didn't want to go anywhere near those packages. Reid knew what was in them without even having to look, and he didn't want those images emblazoned inside his memory. His eidetic memory which would never, ever let them go.

He couldn't run any further without leaving Quantico completely, and if Spence was honest with himself, he didn't dare. At least he would then have his friends nearby when things reached boiling point. Then Spence stopped, and a nasty thought came across his mind.

_Oh yeah, they don't actually care. They've passed this off as another addiction, and Hotch asked them to spy on me and search through my things. They don't trust me and they don't care..._

With that, Spencer began to cry, but his sobs were drowned out by that incessant ringing; and his mind was clouded by that feeling of a demon just outside his door. Knocking. Waiting. Waiting for him to break. Prowling the wooden floorboards, and relishing in the thought of his blood.

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><p><strong><em>Please review. <em>**


	4. Chapter Three: A Hand Offered

_**Never look down on a man unless you're offering a hand to help him up**_

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><p>Spencer sluggishly pulled himself from sleep, acutely aware of the pain in his back and neck. His senses were suddenly set alight as the phone rang once again, and he stumbled up from his cramped sleeping position by the door. A reaching hand grabbed the phone from its cradle, and he found himself yelling down the line.<p>

"WASN'T LAST NIGHT ENOUGH FOR YOU!?" He screamed, not really thinking straight in his sleep-deprived state. "Even a monster like you has to sleep!" Then he slammed down the phone. Moments later, it rang again, and Reid couldn't help himself. "STOP CALLING ME!"

-"**Kid, it's Morgan..."**

"Oh..."

-**"No, don't hang up, just talk,"**

"There's, um, there's..." Reid swallowed. "There's nothing to talk about," He tried to cover it up, clumsily, thinking on the spot. He could just imagine the look on Morgan's face; he knew that in moments the questions would come. However, when they came, it was not how Reid had been expecting.

-**"Reid, kid, we know you're in trouble. We know about your stalker. So, are you okay?" **Morgan's smooth voice was jagged around the edges with worry for his friend. There were a million and one ways to answer that question single question, and Reid couldn't decide what to say at all: one wrong answer and his personal life would be turned upside down.

"He wouldn't stop calling me all night, Morgan. All night... And then there are these packages he keeps sending me... I've been better," Reid wanted to cry and just tell them everything, because it was all so much. But he didn't dare, because then they would have to know _everything, _including the secrets he had worked so hard to conceal. Besides, it wasn't the same over the phone. With a heavy sigh, Spence cast a last despairing glance down at the receiver, before hanging up on Morgan.

"He just hung up, Rossi,"

"Yes, but he's admitted that there's something wrong. That's progress," Rossi said. Morgan nodded, and then hastily shoved his mobile back in his pocket as Hotch entered.

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><p>"Hey baby boy, is everything okay? Morgan just asked me too- oh. My. God..." Garcia stopped short in the door of Reid's flat, her jaw unhinging and dropping to the floor. Reid was half-dressed, and Garcia couldn't stop looking; there was no way on earth she would be able to tear her eyes away from the ugly sight of Spencer's back. Jagged, serrated, half-healing scars ran down his back, across his shoulders and down his arms in an angry criss-cross pattern. It was obviously recent, and many looked infected. A pile of bandages sat on the carpet, a few slivers of blood staining the white fabric.<p>

"Did you knock!? Get out!" Reid picked up his shirt, holding it up to cover his injuries, swallowing thickly when Garcia didn't move. "Can you, uh, leave me to get changed?" He tried again, edging towards the bathroom. At least there, he could seek out the safety of cool running water and smooth white tiles. Penelope didn't seem to be about to move, however.

"We're getting you to a doctor, and you're getting those looked at properly!" She ordered, picking up Spencer's carrier bag and passing him a clean T-shirt. It was painstakingly obvious they were still causing Reid pain, and that he hadn't had them really stitched or cleaned, when some clearly needed stitches. Reluctantly, Reid followed Garcia down to her car.

He was silent all the way to the hospital, where he was attended to by an elderly doctor, whose eyes were as sharp and piercing as those of a young man. He carefully prodded at one particularly nasty injury that went from Reid's left shoulder to half-way down his back, a bemused smile on his face.

"You know, there is help out there, Mr Reid," he mused after a while, going around, facing Spencer. The young man was too surprised to correct him on the 'doctor' part of his name, as he blinked at Doctor Smith. "I may be on the edge of retirement, but I can still tell when an injury has been inflicted by a serrated kitchen knife that was, most likely, used for something else at the time. Were you too embarrassed to come forward for help at the time? Because, for something like this you really ought to press charges," His gaze was firm and piercing, and it made Reid feel acutely uncomfortable. It was stupid, but he got the distinct impression that this man could see right through the intellectual barrier between Spencer and the outside world of emotions; there was no fooling him. "I also know Mr Hotchner personally, and I understand that you are his best agent. For the most part, cops and agents who are being abused or have been assaulted believe they can deal with it themselves without any outside help, but you are among the thousands who found out that is wrong the hard way,"

"Are you saying that I can't cope?" Reid asked, awkwardly turning to face the doctor, who had begun to adjust some notes.

"No, Doctor Reid, I am saying that you need to speak to your team. Open up. I will be keeping you overnight for observation, because several of those cuts are infected, but you knew that, didn't you? I'm on call if you decide to press charges, and I will have you set up in a private room. We can't have anything less for a federal agent of the US of A,"

Once Reid was alone in the private room, he fell back on the pillows with a groan. So, everyone thought he either had a stalker or had been assaulted? In a way, that was better than them realizing the truth... Sometimes, it's hard to break a lie, because you start to grow into it, and then you can't shed it without taking a good majority of yourself with it. Secrets and lies from his team had lead to Spencer lying in a hospital bed with thirteen jagged cuts across his back, and now Morgan and Garcia especially were on to him. He was Morgan's brother and Garcia's little baby genius, but he wasn't everything he said he was. A nurse has dropped off some of his things, and he picked up his messenger bag, reaching into a small pocket hidden by some ripped lining. His fingers removed a locket, and he opened it up with a sad smile. There was his mum, his dad, himself, and another boy who was practically identical to Spence; they were all smiling. Months later, and those smiles would be gone forever, replaced by bitterness, tears and familial betrayal.

"Hey baby boy, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Reid hastily shoved the locket back into his bag before Garcia had a chance to clearly see it.

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><p>AN: I have this planned out and it will be exactly seven chapters plus an epilogue. Please R&R


	5. Chapter Four: Anger Cycle

**_"You can get the monkey off your back, but the circus never leaves town"_**

**_-Ann Lamott_**

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><p>The BAU returned from Nevada a week later, to find Reid sitting comfortably behind his desk; making a head-start on the paperwork. They realized with start that, for the first time in weeks, (if not months), Reid looked well-rested and healthy, and he smiled as they walked in.<p>

"Hey pretty boy, how's everythin'?" Morgan asked, sitting down and pushing his wheelie chair over to join Reid, who put down his file and faced him.

"Good," There was a pause of bated breath, where everyone in the room waited for more information, but none seemed to be forthcoming. Reid casually went back to work, blissfully unaware of the waiting stares being directed his way, or of the high-strung worries that buzzed in the bullpen air. After a few minutes, he seemed to notice that nobody had moved, and then it clicked into place for him. "Guys, if you're worried about my... stalker... um, a doctor at the hospital encouraged me to open up, so I spoke to a therapist. He's working me through the, uh, anxiety and all that. There hasn't been any more contact or psychological torture either," He paused when nobody relaxed. "Yes, I'm fine,"

"Reid—"

"Morgan, I'm perfectly fine man," he grinned. "Last I checked, you're not my mum,"

Prentiss sniggered, and Rossi let slip a low chuckle. Aaron did his typical eye roll, and there was a smile behind his frown; one that Rossi sensed, (as opposed to saw), from across the room. The tension had broken, and relief spread out in ripples. There was that distinct impression that everything would be okay from then onwards.

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><p>Weeks later, Hotch sat in the therapist's office, contemplating the plain white walls and blue-trimmed beige armchairs. Puffy white clouds were painted against the two-toned blue ceiling, recreating a sky with swallows soaring across it. The environment was relaxing, and the breeze through the French windows very soothing. Across from him, a woman with long brown hair and green eyes sat with an ipad on her lap.<p>

"I assume you want to know how Doctor Reid is doing." She asked, appraising his appearance with a trained eye. "He's made great progress, in fact I would go so far as saying he was relieved to finally be able to let out a good deal of what was on his mind. Mental trauma had been building for years. Nuh-uh—" Doctor Shawcruse held up a neatly manicured hand to cut Hotch off, "It only became too much for him a few months ago, and now he has had somebody confidential to talk to,"

"Thank you," Hotch nodded. "His stalker was a shock to all of us- what is it?" At the word 'stalker', the therapist had shaken her head, and gentle bemused look crossed her features.

"You're the profiler here; not me, Special Agent Hotchner, but this is definitely a person who is tormenting your agent for personal reasons. I have studied and interviewed many stalkers and their victims, and the behaviour doesn't fit at all. Well, on the surface it does, but when you look further it doesn't. Spencer told me last week that he doesn't think he will need to see me again; because the calls and torments have stopped. This man has run out of ideas: he isn't organised or creative; he was working from a short-fuse of anger. These will come in short bursts, with long periods of quiet in between. And I know that you're about to ask why I am so sure while talking, and that is because I was a forensic psychologist in England while I was in my early thirties. Keep an eye of Reid, but don't mention his tormentor at all, unless Reid begins acting like he was again, or he mentions it, okay?"

"You're asking me to ignore it?" Hotch asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I am asking you not to upset Spencer: he has been pushed to his mental limit these past three months, and now he is just relieved for it to stop. Don't avoid it- if he talks, listen- but don't question him or unnecessarily bring it up. Let it be, and allow him to come to you when and if anything happens again, understand?"

"I don't need you telling me how to do my job. I know how to look after my agents," Hotch said quickly.

"I know. Sometimes even the best need reminding,"

"Yes. Okay,"

Aaron Hotchner walked out of the building and back into the streets, standing for a moment on the busy street. People rushed past, continuing with their daily lives. How many had gazed into the abyss? How many had seen what monsters lurked in daylight amongst the human race? Hundreds of those around him were ignorant that such people as Peter Sutcliff, Son of Sam, Jack the Ripper and The Hammer could be walking the same paths as them, eating in the same restaurants and seeing the same skies every morning and evening. They didn't know that these things could happen to any of them; they were clueless that people like Reid's tormentor really existed. These moments often crept up on Hotch when he stood in a busy place, and lately they had been happening more and more frequently. With a shiver and shake, Hotchner set off on a brisk walk back to BAU headquarters, where a stack of files and a cheerful team awaited him.

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><p>So, the days stretched into weeks, and they, in turn, ran out into months. Reid seemed to be coming back from the brink of some half-existence, and he was much happier than any of team had seen him in almost two years. His 29th birthday was fast approaching, and for once he actually seemed to welcome the event. He was relaxed around the office and his performance had, if that were possible, become even better as the months wore on. Yet, if they had ever stopped and watched him for a moment too long, they would have seen the melancholic moments that still troubled him; the seconds where a smile faded into a thoughtful, emotionless stare. Reid still laughed, he came out on drinks night more often, he still joked with Morgan and took Garcia's little jabs in good humour, but he was still pushing back the little worry at the back of his mind. No matter what his team said or did, he could not stop thinking about what he wasn't telling them. Oh, sure, he had opened up to the therapist, but that didn't mean he had stopped with the small lies- no, not <em>lies; <em>rather, the withholding of the full truth. If he were to be honest with himself, Reid was too embarrassed to admit that last little event.

Still, life moves onwards all the time, and as another month passed and other cases were solved, even that niggling worry faded further back into the subconscious depths of his brilliant mind. He had forgotten what it was like to unwind completely, and he found himself allowing Morgan to drag him out to more social events. But Reid was always going to be Reid, and he still rambled in front of large crowds and ran off statistics in extraordinary quantities. He still loved to read, and then think over what he had read with a very serious levels; he still walked home alone after a hard day, enjoying the quiet and the freedom of twilight city. Reid found his paranoia and fear of what was waiting in the darkness was abating; no doubt it had simply been a by-product of his tormentor, and now he could relax better at night, therefore he slept properly. Sleep is truly a healer. His caffeine dependency was less severe, and Morgan was shocked when Reid didn't need as much sugar as before. As Spencer stood beside his car- the last one in the mall parking lot, his shopping by his side- he truly felt as if, by some fantastic miracle, Charles was letting go of his bitter, anger-fuelled delusions at last. Reid ran his eyes across the picture in his locket, attempting to dredge up those musty memories, from before... before his mother had done what she did; before his family was irreparably ruined.

Quickly, before the darkness reached inside his mind, Reid snapped the locket shut and placed it back inside his bag, jumping in and starting the car.

* * *

><p>Spencer was pulled from sleep by the loud ringing of his work cell, and he answered at once, wondering what case could be so urgent that Hotchner would call him at 10:30 pm.<p>

"Reid, you need to meet me at Rossi's place at once. No delays; this is urgent," Hotch hissed down the line, before hanging up. Reid was dressed, washed and pulling up outside David's house within half-an-hour, heart pounding, and throat dry. What was going on? Was Rossi hurt? Had- oh sweet lord forbid! Had Charles, his blasted tormentor, done something to the elderly agent? It then, as Reid looked about frantically, that somebody grabbed him from behind, and he was dragged towards the house. Oh god... oh god... this was it; the game was up.

The door swung open and bright lights and loud music assailed his ears, and then he was spun around to face his kidnapper. Self-defence kicking in, Reid swung up his arms to protect his face, and he was met by loud laughter.

"Kid, your face is priceless!" Morgan was practically giggling, and Spencer noticed that he was already a little but drunk. He did his best to land a punch of the ex-policeman, but Morgan swatted him away and asked if anyone had seen the fly that just landed on his arm.

"I thought I was being kidnapped!" Reid gasped, still blinking rapidly as his mind processed everything. Rossi, Morgan, Hotch, Daniel, Jack, Prentiss, Garcia and JJ were all crowded into Rossi's hallway, holding candles and party things. Jack and Daniel cheered and sang happy birthday to Reid, who began to smile, and then that smile turned into a happy bout of laughter.

"Come on, dinner'll be cold so let's eat first," Rossi suggested, and everyone followed him through to the kitchen. In truth, Reid had thought that everyone had forgotten about his birthday; so he had simply let it rest. Courtesy of Morgan, Rossi and Garcia, however, his big 30 had not gone unnoticed. Throughout dinner, there were jokes about Reid rolling over the hill, and wine or beer flowed fairly freely.

Then, as Rossi was clearing away the dinner plates, the doorbell rang.

"...a package for Mr Spencer Reid," Was the delivery boys greeting, and Rossi waved him off, before bringing it back inside to Spence. They were all tipsy, and so none of them wondered how anyone knew where Reid was. They didn't question the 'happy birthday' written in red ink. Nothing was wrong as they cut into the tape and layers of plastic wrapping. It wasn't until Reid suddenly screamed and stumbled back like a man shot, did they realise that something was horrifically wrong.

"I-I'm gonna be... sick..." Reid moaned, as the tears ran down his face. Morgan looked green, but he could not tear his eyes away.

Sitting in the box, was the decaying head of Maeve Donnovan.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Oops... hahah... hahahah... hah... oh.<em>**

**_ Please tell me everything you think so far, all your theories and whatnot. I love reading your feedback :) _**


	6. Chapter Five: One Final Case

**_"What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams." _ **

**_-_**Werner Herzog

* * *

><p><em><strong>IMPORTANT: I need to explain something here. The reason this is so short is because I'm pulling the readers straight into the deep end of this story, where, in effect, you need to work backwards as the story moves forward. I read a lot of books like these, and I wanted to write one too. I could have started from the beginning, detailing when the 'stalker' started what he was doing, and then I could have detailed every small change in Reid's behaviour, subsequently creating a very intricate 50-chapter fanfiction with a four-part build and a two-part climax, and then a long rundown. In fact, that was the original plan, but then I decided that was too ambitious for my first Criminal Minds fanfiction, dontcha agree? <strong>_

"Maeve...? I don't... I-I don't..." Reid stammered, wiping the vomit away from his mouth with a wildly shaking hand. Morgan was already placing a forceful arm across the young agent's chest, taking him back from the room and into the hallway. Spencer could feel his world practically crashing down around his ears; all the peace and happiness he had felt in the past four months was already wiped off the blood-stained slate. Hot tears welled up in his eyes, and he knew that Charlie had gone much, much too far. He could attack him with a kitchen knife, he could send him packages of animal hearts, he could call him all night and torment him... but bringing Maeve into this was one step too many across the line. Couldn't the bastard just let her rest? Had Charles honestly snuck into the graveyard and dug up the body of the smartest, most beautiful woman Spencer had ever met? The thought made his blood boil with rage, but he didn't want to cry; not in front of everyone; not with her cold... dead... eyes just... _watching _him. Reid felt his knees give out, and Morgan caught him before he could collapse to the floor.

When the muffled screaming started, Spencer didn't even realise it was him.

* * *

><p>"How's my little boy genius?" Garcia asked, sitting in the chair next to his bed. Spencer didn't look at her; his brown head remained turned away. It was as if Spencer hadn't even heard. His expression was blank, body language listless.<p>

"He went into hysterics and they had to sedate him. He woke up two hours ago, stared at me; then he just sort of shut down. The doctors say he has gone into deep shock, and we just need to try and keep talking to him and bring him back to us," Morgan said from where he stood by the door. Penelope looked so scared and worried for Reid, and she reached out a hand and brushed some of his brown hair away from his eyes.

"Hey baby boy... Come on back to us, okay? We want to hear some of your amazing existentialist jokes, and it's too quiet without you rattling off facts around the office. And I don't just mean come back from this; I mean let the _old _Spencer come back to us; the one who tries to take cookies and who always amazes people and makes us all- even Hotch- laugh. The one who would admit problems to us, and let us help. Please, Reid..?" Tears began to snake down Garcia's cheeks, and she sniffled fiercely. Morgan passed her a tissue, and then silence descended as they waited to see if Reid would react.

He didn't.

"Excuse me, visiting hours are over," The nurse mumbled, and Morgan and Garcia both nodded mutely. There seemed little point in trying, when they weren't even sure that Reid could hear them anyway. Where was he just then? Where had he gone inside his own mind to escape the horror of what he had just seen? Together, Morgan and Garcia walked out to the car park, cheap take-away coffee clutched in trembling hands. Garcia was shaking with the tears she was holding back, and Morgan was trembling with anger, and both were battling the rising sense of hopelessness. A profile was impossible, because this man didn't seem to fit in with the basic behaviour of a stalker, and his single-minded obsession with Reid was just that little bit more than your average obsession; these events were rage-driven, blood-thirsty.

"Come'ere," Morgan placed an arm around Garcia's shoulders, and she sunk into him, sniffling.

"I don't like crying in hospitals, because they are all so sad anyway,"

"I know... I know... When we find this son of a bitch I think I will gladly pull the trigger,"

"I don't want to think about that, Morgan. C-Can you walk me home?" Garcia gulped, and Morgan nodded.

"Sure baby girl, sure,"

* * *

><p>Morgan picked up his phone the next morning, only to find ten missed calls from both Hotch and Emily. His shoulders and back were stiff from sleeping on the settee <em><strong>(couch, I think<strong>_,_** to you Americans?) **_ and he stretched, feeling the muscles pop, before yawning and settling back down to listen to his messages. His anger from the night before had dissipated, to be replaced by a feeling of begrudging 'let it be'. Reid was safe, and that was the most important thing.

However, as he listened to the message from Hotch his heart froze: blood running cold and clammy sweat breaking out across his forehead.

**Morgan, Reid has gone missing from the hospital. **

Then, a second one from just moments before he woke up.

**We're outside your house. **

Morgan threw on a clean shirt and hastily answered the door, worry etched onto his features like a well-worn mask. The grim looks on the faces of the team only served to add to his feelings of despair. This was never going to end, was it?

Together, they got into the black SUV's and drove towards where Reid was living. The drive was quick, and within half-an-hour they were running up to his apartment, only to be met with yet another shock. Yellow tape cordoned off the corridor, and uniformed officers milled around, taking notes and talking to- or so the team supposed- witnesses. JJ began to feel sick, because as they flashed their FBI badges and neared the door, they saw it had been shot right through with four bullets. Hotch wasted little time in asking the nearest officer what was going on.

"Well sir, somebody broke into this apartment, and then completely destroyed it. They came in through the window, first destroying the coffee machine, then the settee, blew out the lights, smashed all the pictures, the bed, the wardrobe and the books were all burned in the bathtub. Some were expensive too, proper rare classics and signed copies, but most were worthless. He then shot through the door with the man's own gun, and proceeded to leave a _little message_," As the officer talked, he walked them through the flat; allowing them to see exactly what had been done in all its horror. Carved into the door were the words. _**Dear me, do stop running away Spencey. Little brother, don't you know how mean you're being to me?**_

"We left everything as we found it, including those piles of rotten meat by the letterbox, and the locket he nailed to the door. I'll leave you to it, then?" The officer left, and Morgan slipped on a pair of gloves, picking the said locket up very carefully. In it, was a smiling family: something that none of the team had ever had cause to imagine Reid in. Diana sat to the far left, and William to the far right, and sandwiched between them were two identical boys. Both were smiling happily, arms around each other, and the only way to tell them apart was that Spencer had glasses, but the other boy didn't. Morgan removed the picture, and took it out, turning it over. JJ peered over his shoulder, and cold lead slipped down into her stomach.

_**Me, mom, dad and Charles **_was scrawled in the handwriting of a small child.

"I just spoke to Reid's neighbour, and she says that Reid hadn't been living here for two days before this happened," Emily said, making Morgan and JJ jump.

"So," Hotch broke in, "Where could Reid have gone?" Everyone lapsed into silence, until suddenly a voice from behind made them all jump violently yet again.

"Nevada," Heads snapped around like branches in a high wind, stunned surprise chilling the air between them. Standing in the doorway was Jason Gideon, looking more like a university lecturer than ever, with a piece of paper in his hand. "Garcia called me on one of my old numbers," He and Hotch shook hands, although Hotch's grip lacked the usual firmness due to his shock, no doubt.

"How do you know?" JJ asked.

"He just used his credit card to buy a book on the psychology behind stalkers at a bookstore in Fort McDermitt,"

"Cry for help?" Rossi inquired.

"Most definitely. Fill me in on the jet; we can't waste any time here," Gideon said, already getting his head stuck firmly into the new case.

"With all due respect, you're not an agent any—" Rossi began, but Hotch cut him off with a hand and a stern tone:

"Leave it Dave, Gideon can come for one last case; we need everything we can get," His words were heavy, "We could get bought up in front of the board again for insubordination charges against the Bureau, and if that's the case this is on my head, alright? I am your team leader so I have to take the responsibility- Prentiss, get Garcia to run the files through Strauss,"

"There aren't any files..." Emily reminded him.

"get Garcia to do whatever she can about that, and if all else fails, remind them that this is the life of a brilliant federal agent at immediate stake," Hotch decided, and then brusquely thanked the officer. He had stuck by protocols for too long, oftentimes putting his team members in the crossfire through following the rules to the letter. He knew they could get taken off the case on the grounds of personal involvement, but they were truly the only ones who stood any chance at helping Reid just then; nobody else knew him like they did. JJ and Prentiss just gawped at him: Aaron Hotchner, the tough-as-nails never-blinking rule-stickling SSA was finally doing the correct thing and outwardly running against the grain of the Bureau. To be honest, they rather liked this side of him!

* * *

><p>As they landed, Garcia called them to say that Reid had finally turned on his cell, and that he was checked into a remote motel on the edge of fort McDermitt. Adrenaline was pumping high, and fingers were constantly tensing around the handles of their guns, as the team sped towards the location.<p>

"I did a little more digging, and I cross-checked all the other guests at that motel- and I know you didn't ask me to, but I really want to be all over this like maple syrup on a pancake- and the paper trail on this guy named Charles Adams shows that he was in the same series of fancy hotels and restaurants as Reid about four years ago; sharing a room," Garcia rushed.

"And he's now staying at the same motel as Reid? Hold on- how deep did you have to go to get four years back: I thought they didn't keep records for that length of time!" Emily frowned, confused.

"Welcome to the beautiful cyberspace my friend! Please hurry, and stay safe okay? Garcia out!" the tech hung up, and a grimly thoughtful expression fixed itself on Gideon's face.

"What is it?" Rossi asked, not letting this go unnoticed.

"Four years ago, shortly before he left, Reid took out all his annual leave just like you said he did when this whole thing started," Gideon replied, and heavy silence clamped down in the SUV.

"We have our unsub..." Morgan mumbled slowly.

"...but we haven't got ourselves profile," Prentiss finished glumly, as the car pulled up and they leapt out. Hotch strolled through the doors, his footsteps echoing with authority as he put a copy of Reid's ID on the desk behind the motel owner sat.

"Have you seen this man?" he asked, flashing his own ID as he spoke. The owner looked back at him with lazy green cats-eyes, chewing some dried meat slowly.

"Well that depends; I get a lot of kids through h—"

"His name is Doctor Spencer Reid and he is a federal agent of the United States," Gideon said firmly. Morgan took a threatening step forwards, and for once Hotch didn't stop him.

"O-okay! Jeez, he and some other guy just left a few seconds before you arrived,"

"Was there anything unusual about it?"

"Those two looked darn similar, I can tell ya that. Come to think, the skinny one looked kinda scared, an' I couldn't see the other guys hand... oh Jesus I think he had something black and... like a-a- like your gun!"

"Shit," Morgan cursed, racing out of the doors and back around the building, all of the team apart from Gideon close behind him. Jason was long out of practise, and so he decided to go up and check the rooms while the others did the more active things.

"REID!" Morgan's bellowing cry echoed up around the grounds, followed closely by two gunshots, as down on the ground a scene of horror played out. Jason dashed to the window, watching as a battered blue jeep skidded off, with the limp body of Spencer Reid slumped against the back window, blood running slowly down the filthy glass.

**_A/N: Please REVEIW peeps! And omigosh I just had to bring Jason back for a FINAL case. Big emphasis on final, whatd'ya think is happing there? Remember, I love to know if you're still reading and I aologise for this being late but I was struggling with writers block. _**


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